


If You Show Me Yours

by mischiefmanager



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M, Porn with Feelings, aka the dick measuring fic, and they were ROOMMATES, oh my god they were roommates, takes place in like 2005-2006, then fell out of touch, then reconnected in college, they were friends in middle school
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:00:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27627152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mischiefmanager/pseuds/mischiefmanager
Summary: H.A.G.S. - Richie (207) 397-5—followed by three illegible numbers, written on the inside of the back cover of Eddie’s eighth grade yearbook.That was the last he’d heard of Richie Tozier until August of his junior year of college, when they were suddenly roommates.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 12
Kudos: 129





	If You Show Me Yours

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by a scene from [The Gay and Wondrous Life of Caleb Gallo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5c5YuuMWXzg&ab_channel=BrianJordanAlvarez).

_H.A.G.S. - Richie (207) 397-5_ —followed by three illegible numbers, written on the inside of the back cover of Eddie’s eighth grade yearbook.

That was the last he’d heard of Richie Tozier until August of his junior year of college, when they were suddenly roommates.

Actually, that makes it sound like the roommate thing was _pure coincidence_ when in fact, it was all Eddie, all on purpose. He transferred schools junior year, he was in need of a roommate who would probably be cool with him being gay, and when he saw Richie Tozier’s name in the listings, he just kind of...went for it. Right away, he was sure that it was the same guy. It’s not like there are thousands of Richie Toziers running around in the world. So he sent this like, _hey, remember me from Derry Junior High?_ message. And Richie responded in under a minute: _holy fuck, Eddie Kaspbrak?! Yeah I totally remember you!_

Eddie was surprised, but also not surprised. Because it’s not that they were even really that great of friends to begin with, except they sort of were? Not in the way that they hung out with the same people or had sleepovers, or even like, ate lunch together. They didn’t even really cross paths until eighth grade Drawing 1, which Eddie only took because he needed a fine art credit to move on to high school.

At the time, he had really wished he’d taken it in sixth grade with Bill, because by eighth grade Bill was already in Drawing 3. So Eddie didn’t know anyone else in Drawing 1, which was pretty much an entire classroom full of eleven year olds, plus him and Richie. So he’d sat next to Richie, and they’d got to talking. To put it mildly.

It was one of those friendships that got weirdly intense, weirdly fast. By the end of the first week, he’d told Richie that he was pretty sure his mother had Munchausen’s By Proxy, and Richie had gotten into his untreated ADHD. It was stuff neither of them had ever discussed with anyone else, clearly, and everything was brought up in a light, could-take-it-back-if-I-needed-to way. The way teenagers protect themselves.

“Haha, yeah I mean… every time she gives me Advil, I sorta wonder if she’s snuck some anti-freeze in the capsules.” Once he’d realized Richie wasn’t going to make fun of him, he’d followed up. “I started flushing all my meds down the toilet when I was twelve.”

By contrast, Richie’d said… “Yeah like, maybe if she gives you some uppers you could save ‘em for me.”

Richie’s mom was worried about “stifling his personality with unnecessary medicating.” It came from a much better place than Eddie’s mom basically trying to fucking _poison_ him, but the result is that she was actively making his life way harder, so. Road to hell, you know?

The result of everything is that Eddie still can’t draw an apple to save his life, but he remembers an absurd amount of weird shit about thirteen-year-old Richie Tozier. Nothing normal, like… Eddie has no idea if Richie has any brothers or sisters or anything. No clue when his birthday is. Doesn’t even know where he ended up going to high school. 

But none of that stuff seemed important when Eddie was skimming the Roommate Needed ads and saw the name of the first person he ever kinda sorta came out to.

Well actually, that’s not giving Eddie enough credit. It was pretty fucking brave of him. He doesn’t remember how the Sadie Hawkins dance came up in conversation that one day, or even the exact wording of the question Richie asked him, but the gist of it was that he was wondering if any girls had asked Eddie to the dance yet.

_No, thank fucking god,_ had been Eddie’s answer. He was having a really hard time shading this bowl, and he hadn’t thought through the implications of being super relieved _out loud_ that girls seemed to be allergic to him. Like, Eddie already knew he was gay, but he was usually extremely good about keeping his cards close to the vest.

_Not into girls?_ had been Richie’s reply. No pause, no weird looks. Just a simple question, light and breezy. Quiet enough that no one else in the room could hear him.

_Yeah,_ had slipped easily out of Eddie’s mouth, and the breath he drew in next had been maybe the best, most cleansing air of his life. _I think...Imightbegay_

Richie screwed up his face, but not in a bad way. His eyebrows were furrowed at his horrible drawing as he nearly tore a hole in the page with his eraser. His dark curls bounced with the movement of his arm. _Yeah_ , he’d said. _I think me too. Or something. Maybe._

The paper ripped. _Ah, shit,_ Richie had muttered. 

The seconds after that stretched out in front of Eddie like tunnel vision. He’d wanted nothing more in that moment then to reach out and touch Richie’s wiry, puffy hair. What would it feel like? What would it _smell_ like?

And then he’d immediately had to fight back an insane urge that came out of fucking nowhere to ask Richie to the stupid Sadie Hawkins dance. He wrestled with it for half a second, biting his lip…

And then the bell for next period rang, and neither of them ever brought it up again. _Not_ because Eddie forgot about it—in all honesty, it was basically all he thought about for the rest of the school year—but because he was too chickenshit to broach the subject again.

But the memory of that conversation… Just that was enough for Eddie to want to live with him. And so he’d replied to Richie’s ad. Six years later. 

Things went pretty smoothly after that. Richie’s apartment was messy as fuck, which seemed on-brand for the sort of guy Eddie remembers him being. His previous roommate, a living, breathing teddy bear named Ben, had only half moved out before Eddie moved in. Some of Ben’s stuff is still here, four months later. Mostly workout equipment. According to Richie, Ben went through a major Bowflex phase that petered out once he started dating the girl he eventually moved in with. Richie grumbles a lot about Ben _ditching him_ but without any real annoyance in his voice. Almost like he feels like he _has_ to give him shit about it. 

_I can’t really blame him,_ Richie eventually admitted one night, hanging like a kid on the monkey bars from Ben’s chin-up bar. _Bev’s a fuckin’ catch._

Eddie is about 86% sure Richie is saying that as, like, a friend. He doesn’t _think_ Richie is really into Beverly like that. They have an obvious and real connection, and Bev is at their place at least a couple times a week, but it’s always struck Eddie as platonic, even bordering on sibling-ish. Although, in fairness, Eddie isn’t a great judge of hetero romantic tension. Or sibling relationships either, for that matter. So maybe he’s totally off base. Richie has also mentioned an ex-girlfriend, so really, who knows?

That’s been the only real disappointment since moving in with Richie. Apparently the _gay or something maybe_ hadn’t panned out because Richie’s brought up this ex-girlfriend once or twice. Not in an _I miss her_ kind of way but just like in passing. _Oh, thanks, I borrowed it from my ex-girlfriend and never gave it back,_ when Eddie complimented his sweater. Stuff like that.

And Eddie _wants_ to think he’s just disappointed because he was looking forward to some gay solidarity, like maybe someone to go to Pride with or whatever, but it’s getting more difficult by the day to deny that he’s absolutely _aching_ to get into Richie’s pants, and every time Richie brings up girls he has to fight off a stronger wave of jealous defensiveness. It’s not like he’s talking about them to upset Eddie, after all. He’s just discussing his life. With his roommate-slash-old-friend-sorta.

Because there’s definitely that lingering closeness. It’s clear that Richie remembers their old conversations, at least some of them, because he brings things up from eighth grade without warning like they were talking about them yesterday. 

_Yeah,_ he’d said the first morning after Eddie had moved in, eating cereal across from but not necessarily with each other, _remember how my mom wouldn’t let me get meds for my ADHD? Check it out—I got a prescription._

And he had. He’d passed an orange bottle with a childproof lock over to Eddie. _Adderall XR. 20 mg. Tozier, Richard W._

“What’s the W stand for?” Eddie had asked.

“What?”

“Your middle name. Richard W.”

Richie has looked at him for a second. “The W stands for…” he‘d said, and then paused like he had to think about it. “William.”

“Okay. New question: why did it take you like thirty seconds to remember your own name?” Eddie had asked, passing Richie back his pills. 

Richie twisted up his mouth and sort of squinted a little at Eddie, like he was sizing him up. “Cause I was lying,” he said, finally. “It’s Wentworth. I know, don’t—I know it’s bad.”

Richard Wentworth Tozier. It really would be terrible, maybe, if Richie wasn’t so goddamn cute.

“Is it worse than fucking Franklin?” was Eddie’s reply. “Cause that’s my middle name. 

“Franklin, like the turtle?” Richie had asked. “You remember that shit right? It’s like some educational show or some shit. Maybe not educational but like, really into morals or something. What do you call that? Uh… I dunno.” He shrugged and dug his spoon back into his bowl.

_Edward Franklin,_ Eddie had thought he saw Richie mouth, before he shoveled cereal in and started chewing and then Eddie isn’t sure he even saw it at all.

Eddie’s also not sure how much the Adderall really seems to be helping, at least outwardly. Richie is still a hot mess, but with a strong emphasis on the _hot._ Eddie had found him vaguely attractive in middle school, but he was so all over the place at the time that he wouldn’t have even known what to do about it then. And like...how attractive can anyone _really_ be in middle school? 

Now though...mmm. Richie’s got that tall and lanky thing going for him, as well as a truly glorious head of curly dark hair that’s just begging for Eddie’s fingers to twist in. Big, sleepy brown eyes under the dorkiest pair of giant black-framed glasses. An effortlessly cool wardrobe. 

And an obvious aversion to wearing pants around the house; Eddie’s gotten an eyeful of boxer-brief-bulge more than a few times and it’s never been an unwelcome sight. He’ll just be sitting in the living room minding his own business, when Richie will bust out of his bedroom door in a t-shirt and underwear like, _have you seen my DS stylus anywhere?_ And then he’ll just start digging in the couch cushions, ass in Eddie’s face, completely and blissfully oblivious to Eddie’s efforts not to openly salivate. (It’s always the damn DS stylus too; Eddie’s pretty sure he’s never managed to hold onto it for more than an hour at a time.)

It’s unfortunate. And that applies to both the stylus thing, and Eddie’s probably-unrequited pining. He’s considering wearing a rubber band around his wrist to ping every time his eyes wander past Richie’s belt, because the last thing he needs is to fuck up this tenuous, not-quite-comfortable-yet arrangement they have. He’s made other friends of course, but none close enough that he’d have anywhere specific to crash if Richie suddenly didn’t want to live with him anymore.

Eddie shakes his head to clear it. He’s paused Super Mario long enough that he’s wondering if he shouldn’t just turn the game off, and honestly he can’t even remember how he lost this level. He doesn’t want to be counting down the seconds until Richie gets home from work. But he usually gets home around 8:15 and it’s now 8:20 so really, it’s just out of neighborly-type concern. Right? 

Also it has nothing to do with the fact that Richie brought up this girl he’d been talking to on AIM the other day and might or might not hang out with. And Eddie hasn’t really seen him for long enough to talk since that conversation, so he’s mildly curious to hear how that went. Again, neighborly concern.

Eddie hears Richie’s key in the lock and immediately presses Play so he won’t look like he’s been sitting around waiting for him to get home. Fucking pathetic.

The door slams and Richie bellows out, “ _I’m quitting my job, I swear to God.”_

Eddie shuts off the Wii without bothering to save. He hears two thumps as Richie kicks off his shoes.

“I can’t pay the rent by myself,” he tells Richie.

“Fine,” Richie calls back. “I’ll be a male escort instead. Anything but fucking retail.”

Eddie’s insides squirm. He hears Richie throw his backpack and jacket down on the table and then suddenly he’s in the living room, draping himself dramatically over the back of the couch.

“American Eagle is where they make you work when you’re not sexy enough to stand outside Abercrombie and do nothing all day,” Richie announces. His curls flop off his face as he looks at Eddie upside down. _Spider-Man kiss,_ says the horny gremlin on Eddie’s shoulder. He scoffs, pushing the thought away. _Not. Now._

“Why would you want to work at Abercrombie?” Eddie asks him. “It smells like a fucking locker room in there. It makes the whole mall stink. If you worked there you’d bring the smell home and then I’d have to move out.” Also, and not that he plans to tell Richie, but at least four fifths of Eddie’s entire wardrobe is from American Eagle so he certainly wouldn’t complain about taking advantage of Richie’s employee discount. If they ever get comfortable enough with each other for Eddie to ask for it, that is.

“I don’t want to _work_ there,” Richie corrects him. “I want to get paid to stand somewhere and look hot. Hence my plan of becoming an escort.”

To be honest, Eddie doesn’t think Richie would exactly make bank as an escort. He’s too weird. The only one who would be interested in hiring him would—sadly—be Eddie.

“I feel like—and maybe I’m wrong about this,” Eddie says, “but don’t escorts like, usually have to fuck people?”

“Oh what, like that’s a _chore?”_ Richie snorts. “That’s what they call a _job perk,_ my sweet, innocent summer child.”

He reaches over to ruffle Eddie’s hair. Eddie bats his hand away.

“Shut up,” is Eddie’s only reply. He doesn’t really want to get into his sexual history with Richie because that seems like a Bad Idea.

And Eddie does have an honest-to-God sexual history. He even had a boyfriend for a few months last year. And he’s hooked up with two...well, two and a half guys. He’s still not sure whether you count an over-the-clothes handjob as a hookup.

“That’s it?” Richie says, cocking his head so that his hair flops over. “ _Shut up?_ That’s all you got? C’mon Eddie, I rely on the promise of your banter to get me through the workday.”

Eddie just shoves him, and he takes the hint and sits all the way up, heaves himself off the sofa and walks away. 

“Maybe I should be a chef,” Richie calls back, obviously on his way to the kitchen.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, twisting around and watching Richie’s ass disappear behind a counter. “You can open up a restaurant that only serves burned Spongebob macaroni.”

Richie’s middle finger is his only answer.

“Oh, now who’s slacking on the banter?” Eddie replies, getting up off the couch and following behind him.

“Ha!” Richie’s face lights up. “No one gets me like you, Eds.”

Eddie leans up against the doorjamb between the kitchenette and the living room, arms crossed over his chest. Something in the back of his mind warns him against picking at this—reminds him that _he doesn’t want to know and this is only going to upset him_ —but it’s one of those things. Like a scab or a peeling sunburn. He can’t leave it alone.

“So um...how did it go with that girl the other day?” Eddie is high-key hoping that Richie will go, _what girl?_ and then professes his undying love for cock.

“Alexis?” Richie finishes filling a pot with water and sets it on the stove. He always starts with cold water for some reason. It takes for-fucking-ever to start boiling and it makes Eddie want to pull his hair out. Who the fuck does that? You start with _hot_ tap water and _then_ put it on the stove.

“Is that her name? The one you were talking to on AIM?”

“Yeah,” says Richie kind of absently, like he’d forgotten all about her and hadn’t been joking around about sticking his dick in her less than four days ago. “Yeah, we met up on Sunday.”

“Where’d you go?” _Yeah Eddie, pick that scab. No way this is going to go badly._

“Her place,” says Richie, turned away from Eddie and fiddling with the knob on the stove.

“That was fuckin’ fast,” Eddie says. “Good sex?”`

Richie lets out a loud bark of laughter. Evidently he wasn’t expecting Eddie to just say it. In fact, neither was Eddie—his mouth seems to have overridden his better judgement.

“Sure,” says Richie. “Yeah. Great.”

“Do you think you’ll see her again?” Eddie asks.

“Eh, nah.” Richie shrugs. “I think it was just like a one time thing.”

“How was it?” says Eddie’s mouth without asking his brain.

Richie laughs again, clears his throat and then leans back against the counter. “Well, I was involved so obviously, amazing. I bring the magic, baby.” He gestures toward his crotch. _I fucking bet you do,_ Eddie thinks.

“Oh, do you have a really nice dick?” Eddie asks super casually. Well, as casually as possible given the situation.

Richie doesn’t even hesitate. “Yeah.”

“How big is it?” is out of Eddie’s mouth before he can stop himself. Every ounce of common sense he has is telling him to be like, _haha just kidding anyway, see you later, I’m gonna go hang myself,_ but of course he doesn’t do that because he’s a glutton for punishment, and he also really, truly does want to know how big Richie’s dick is. For, you know, reasons. Regular, normal, platonic friendship reasons.

Barely a pause. “Seven inches.”

“Oh yeah?” says Eddie lightly, because of course he doesn’t care even a little bit what Richie’s dick looks like and hasn’t fantasized about it a thousand times at all. “So’s mine.” That sounded conversational and normal, right? Right?

Just as Eddie is starting to really question the absurdity of this whole exchange, Richie snaps his fingers. “I knew it. I knew you had a similar sized dick to me.”

And with that, things go from weird to _what the fuck._

“Really? How?”

“I dunno,” says Richie, tilting his head in consideration.

_This should probably end here,_ Eddie thinks. _I should be like, ‘_ Whelp, nice chatting with you about dicks,’ _and fucking_ book _it._ Excuses flitter through his mind, from believable to insane, without leaving any impact. Homework. Shower. Zumba. Gotta go jerk off.

Well actually, that last one is feeling more and more inevitable by the second. Eddie’s dick hasn’t _not_ noticed the turn this conversation has taken.

Hmm. Richie has let his little _I dunno_ just hang in the air, like it’s a real answer or something. His body language speaks a lot for him though, he’s kind of leaned back against the counter top, looking Eddie up and down. 

“You really think our dicks are the same size?” says Eddie, just for something to say. It would be a lot safer to like, steer the conversation elsewhere, but a part of him—a pretty specific and tangible part of him, actually—likes where it is. It’s a challenge, kind of. It almost feels like they’re daring each other.

“I _know_ our dicks are the same size,” says Richie, eyebrows raised. Not backing down _at all._

The saner part of Eddie’s brain is screaming at him to pump the fucking brakes before Richie figures out how gay this whole thing is and puts the kibosh on it. He takes a couple of steps back, mentally starting to prepare his exit. And then he _stops_ , because Richie strides forward immediately to make up the difference. He stretches his arms up to the chin-up bar that’s tension-mounted in the doorway, wraps his long fingers around it, and stays there. His shirt rides up a little. Eddie can see the waistband of his underwear peeking out from his jeans, the trail of dark hair disappearing under it. _Delicious_ is the word that comes to mind. Dear god, Richie looks fucking _good._ Eddie dares to meet his eyes.

“I’m...kind of hard right now,” Eddie says, a little quietly, tightening his arms across his chest. Not out of bravery—because that’s a bold-ass thing to just throw out there—but because Eddie’s shorts really don’t leave much to the imagination, and he’d rather be the one to draw attention to the situation instead of waiting for Richie to figure it out. There’s just...there’s no way Richie wasn’t going to notice it sooner or later.

Richie’s eyes zoom down immediately to Eddie’s crotch. He’s not like, _stiff,_ but it’s probably a not-insubstantial-looking bulge. Richie twists his hips a little in an almost unconscious way. His tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek and _what the fuck._ It’s...really sexy for some reason. _Really_ sexy. Definitely not helping the boner situation.

Silence. Eddie shifts his weight from one foot to the other, very aware that he’s probably now at least halfway to fully erect.

“Yeah,” Richie says after a second. “Me too.” It’s impossible to tell. Richie’s got on jeans.

Eddie meets his eyes again, his unreadable expression. God, he wants to kiss him. So bad. Worse than he’s ever wanted to kiss anyone in his life. He feels almost _paralyzed_ with it. Like he can’t trust himself to say anything at all. He’s almost afraid to even move. 

Richie’s eyes flick down again to Eddie’s crotch. “Lemme see.” 

Eddie casually, calmly, coolly, immediately yanks his shorts down. He uses one hand to hold up the hem of his t-shirt and keeps the other thumb hooked in the waistband of his shorts and underwear. He’s never just like...been asked to flash someone like this. In fact, he’s never even thought about it before so he hasn’t so much as even practiced in the mirror. Is this how you do it? Like, he’s trying to make it look sexy but honestly, who knows?

Richie’s eyes bulge a little for just a second before he tilts his head sideways. He gulps. Clears his throat. “No, yeah, bro that’s a nice-looking dick.”

Eddie almost says _thank you_ but catches himself just in time. He pursues his lips instead. Raises his eyebrows. Doesn’t move to tuck himself back in. Also, _bro?!_

“It’s, uh,” says Richie, lifting his head back off his own shoulder, “it’s like, I think, a little bit thicker than mine.”

Eddie inclines his chin toward Richie. The gesture is unmistakable. _I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours._

It’s so quiet that Richie’s exhale is deafening. He slides his hands off the chin-up bar and reaches down, hesitating on his belt buckle. Eddie, in probably the bravest moment of his whole life, makes eye contact.

God, it’s like all the wanting he’s been trying to shove away over the past few months is just coming back at him like a tidal wave. Trying not to think about how cute Richie is, or how fucking funny he can be, or how great being around Richie makes him feel. It’s like that crazy moment where he almost asked Richie to the Sadie Hawkins dance in eighth grade, but a million times more. This probably isn’t a good moment to realize it, but Eddie’s been falling in _love_ over the course of the semester, and if Richie suddenly decides to _no homo_ this whole thing...it’s gonna fucking suck. Really bad. It’ll hurt worse than _any_ failed date, Eddie thinks, because it comes with all that shit from the beginning of puberty, when Richie was basically the one person he wasn’t worried about being rejected by.

Richie returns the eye contact. His cheeks are pink, Eddie notices. And then he smiles, and unbuckles his belt.

It’s like Eddie’s watching him undress in slow motion, but Richie seems pretty damn sure of himself. He pulls his jeans down to his knees, which Eddie thinks is ballsy as fuck. If this whole weird thing suddenly takes a turn for the heterosexual, it would take much longer for him to pull them back up than for Eddie to yank the waistband of his shorts back over his erection. Richie’s apparently gonna let him see the whole package.

By the time Richie’s finished standing up after pulling down his boxers, Eddie is convinced that he’s going to start drooling over Richie’s dick no matter what it looks like, but he’s _never_ going to forget this moment. Not ever. This is his _dream_ dick. Not to be all Goldilocks about it, but Eddie’s seen bigger, and he’s seen smaller; he’s seen thinner, and he’s seen thicker, and this one is...well. It’s also harder than Eddie’s is currently, but probably not for long. He licks his lips without meaning to. 

“Wow,” Eddie breathes out, almost unconsciously. Which is probably a mistake, because that drags this whole already-really-gay thing so far out of _no homo_ territory that there’s no taking it back. There is no such thing as a _friendly breathless ‘wow’_ at your “bro’s” dick.

Luckily Eddie doesn’t even get a chance to really think further about it, because apparently that was some kind of signal that Richie had been waiting for. He takes a couple of shaky breaths before crossing the invisible barrier that’s kept them three feet apart at lightning speed, grabs Eddie by the biceps, and kisses him like his fucking life depends on it.

Eddie makes an extremely undignified noise as he kisses back and lets go of his shorts and briefs, and the elastic bands trap his dick against his stomach. It’s pretty uncomfortable, but he hardly registers it because he’s too busy sliding his hand under Richie’s t-shirt to feel the bare skin of his hip. Would it be like, _rude,_ to just grab his dick? It’s _so_ close and he wants to _so_ bad, but…

Richie’s hands slide down to Eddie’s waist and he pulls him close, like flush against him close. That gorgeous, perfect, rock-hard dick is right up against his stomach now, he can feel it through his shirt. Eddie has never been so upset to be wearing a shirt; like he wishes he could just fucking rip it off. Because then Richie’s dick would be touching his skin, and that—

Eddie can confidently say that he is more turned on than he ever has been in his _life._ Normally when he has sex with someone he has a hard time like, staying in the moment. It’s even an issue when he’s just by himself, jerking off. He worries about things; about almost _everything_ . What he looks like, what he sounds like, how much noise he is or isn’t making. But now, not even a little. Nothing. None of that shit has even crossed his mind. He feels like… Suddenly he gets why people do such stupid things when they’re horny. He would jump out the goddamn window for the promise of Richie’s dick right now and it’s almost as horrifying as it is awesome. The feeling is totally consuming him, and he’s _dying_ to let it.

Richie breaks their kiss, sucking in a ragged sounding breath, to inelegantly yank Eddie’s shirt over his head and toss it to the ground. His pupils are huge, and his eyes rake down Eddie’s body to his dick, straining against the elastic. “Oh my god,” he pants, low and quiet, his hand trailing down over Eddie’s chest to the waistband, fingers hooking in. “Can I? Please?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, unbuttoning Richie’s shirt while Richie slides Eddie’s shorts and underwear off his hips and lets them fall around his ankles. 

Richie kisses him again fiercely, hands on Eddie’s hips as he starts to kneel—wait. 

And because it’s suddenly become clear to Eddie that Richie’s planning on just _doing this_ right here in the fucking kitchen, he adds, “c’mon.”

He pulls Richie by the front of his shirt, the part that’s still buttoned, stepping backwards out of his shorts. Richie manages to kick himself out of his jeans and boxers, and then he’s following Eddie _fast,_ kissing him wildly again _._ For a second, Eddie kind of hopes Richie will just pin him against the wall, but he also knows that the few steps to make it to a bed will probably be worth their while. The closest bed happens to be the one in Eddie’s room, so keeping the grip he’s got on the front of Richie’s shirt, he hauls him through the door.

Eddie kicks it shut behind him. It’s _their_ apartment, so it’s not like anyone is going to walk in on them, but it’s almost like his feelings are so enormous that he has to physically lock some of them out of the room or he’ll explode. He keeps backing up, Richie’s tongue in his mouth, until his knees hit the foot of the bed and nearly topples backwards, scrambling onto his elbows to make room for Richie to follow.

Richie is on top of him in a flash. Eddie finishes unbuttoning his shirt and pushes it off his shoulders. Richie rips the t-shirt he had on under the button-down over his head. They’re _naked_ together, and Eddie doesn’t know how to express how much he wants to do _everything_ . He’s got—oh god, Richie’s dick is touching his own, and it’s _Richie—_ the first guy Eddie ever really thought like, _wow, I_ like _him._ Not some celebrity or fictional character or whatever. Even at thirteen, Richie had charmed the fucking tighty-whities off him with his awkwardly dark peach fuzz and his razor-sharp elbows. It’s kind of insane to think that all that puberty weirdness between them is what landed them here: making out frantically in Eddie’s bed. It feels like he’s a virgin again, like this is his first time in bed with another guy. But it’s better than his actual first time, because he was nervous as _fuck_ then, so nervous he couldn’t even come, and right now, he’s never felt _less_ self-conscious. He’s nearly vibrating with how badly he wants Richie on him, in him, everywhere.

“Okay,” says Richie, breaking their kiss and breathing like he just finished running a marathon. “Okay.” He pushes himself up a little, weight resting on the heels of his hands. “Um. _CanIblowyou?”_ It’s kind of funny. Richie _never_ hesitates, he always just blurts out whatever shit he’s thinking all the time, but he almost seems a little shy about asking. He’s pretty red, blushing down his neck and even into his chest. Eddie’s never seen him like this, and he thinks it might tear him apart if this is the only time he gets to.

“Yeah, you—please. Yeah.” Eddie sucks in a real shaky breath as Richie pitches backwards, settling with his head in between Eddie’s legs, hips twisted to the side. Which is great for Eddie because if he keeps his upper body off the bed, supported on his forearms and elbows, he can still see _everything,_ Richie’s curls, his back, his ass, and that gorgeous dick…

Eddie is going to _lose it_ with how bad he wants this, and it’s so _weird_ because literally like, twenty-five minutes ago he was just sitting on the couch with his bag of Fritos thinking about nothing, and now he’s going to go off like a rocket the nanosecond Richie touches him. One time last year, a guy brought him peonies and took him out to the nicest restaurant he’s ever been to, and that date had ended in disaster because Eddie couldn’t even get hard once they got back to his place. And what the fuck did Richie do? He just waltzed into the apartment, turned the stove on, showed Eddie his dick and Eddie lost his goddamn mind. But _apparently_ that’s exactly what gets Eddie going. He never would have guessed it, but here he is.

Richie huffs a little laugh before he gets right to it, sucking the head of Eddie’s dick into his mouth. His eyes flutter closed behind his glasses—like having Eddie’s dick in his mouth is some kind of huge _relief—_ and his hips twist slightly toward the bed before his left hand leaves Eddie’s thigh and travels down his body. Eddie—he swears to god—almost comes immediately. Not from Richie’s lips sliding down his shaft, but from watching Richie’s fingers close around his own dick.

_“Ohhh god oh god oh god,”_ Eddie mutters under his breath, wiggling his toes and tightening the muscles in his stomach _hard,_ because there’s not really anything else he can think of to do to slow himself down _._ Richie looks up at him, catching his eyes, and then he slides his fist up and down a few times slowly on himself, drawing his lips all the way up and swirling his tongue around the head of Eddie’s dick. If Eddie were smart and wanted to last, he’d close his eyes, but he must be as big of a fucking idiot as he feels like because he’s not even considering _blinking,_ lest he miss even one millisecond of the sexiest thing that’s ever happened in his life.

Richie’s mouth on him is seriously like an added bonus to the show of watching Richie touch himself, although it occurs to Eddie that Richie’s got to be feeling the exact opposite, judging by how much he seems to be enjoying blowing him. There’s absolutely no way he’s just doing this for shits and giggles either; there just isn’t. Everything about him, from the way he pumps into his hand like blowing Eddie is turning him on so bad he can’t help it, to the flush in his cheeks and the way he _moans_ around Eddie’s dick… Richie wants this at least as much as Eddie does. This _can’t_ be the first time it’s ever occurred to him.

Also, he’s fucking _good_ at it. No way he’s never given head before. Which is a little bit unfortunate in some ways, because Eddie is absolutely going to blow his load any second now, _embarrassingly_ fast. He’s quickly reaching the point where he’s going to have to say some shit about it too, like, _heads up, I’m gonna come so you can pull off if you—_

And then Eddie is suddenly _really_ glad he’s spent this whole time fighting with himself not to come because he zeroes in on some rapid-fire changes in Richie’s demeanor: his mouth goes a little slack, his hand speeds up, his eyes flutter closed again…

“Stop,” Eddie breathes out, for reasons he hasn’t fully comprehended yet.

Richie does, immediately. His eyes shoot open and he snaps his head up, curls bouncing. He also grabs the base of his own dick and _squeezes_ tight, like he’s trying to physically hold back an orgasm. And something about that is just so goddamn hot that Eddie’s stomach does an almost sickening, lurching somersault. A bead of precome slides out of him and down the length of his dick.

“What’s up?” Richie asks, voice raw and low, with a casualness that doesn’t match his expression. His eyes look huge behind his glasses. Huge, and a little terrified.

Eddie licks his lips. It’s not that Richie was doing anything wrong, but Eddie will absolutely die if he lets this whole thing end before he gets a chance to get his hands on that fucking perfect dick, and for a second there, it was really looking like Richie was going to get himself off with zero help from Eddie.

Eddie _has_ to touch him. He _has to._ Asking is super embarrassing, but if he gets to touch Richie’s dick then it’s totally worth plowing through the discomfort.

“I just, um…” Eddie clears his throat and inclines his chin toward Richie’s dick, which Richie has let go of. “Can I touch you?”

Richie looks confused only momentarily before he goes, “ _Oh._ Yeah, uh. Yeah. Here, I can…” He sits up.

Eddie sits up too and they maneuver sort of awkwardly until they’re lying next to each other, Eddie on the right side of the bed, Richie on the left. Eddie’s brain takes a quick break from the frantic, crushing horniness to fantasize momentarily about them sleeping like that, and his stomach flips again.

He turns to his bedside drawer to grab some lube, trying to hide his smile.

“What?” says Richie, catching his eye and smiling.

Eddie bites his lip, squeezing lube into his palm. “Nothing.”

And then, with a tenderness that’s almost unbearable, Richie reaches over, cups Eddie’s face in his big hands, and brings their lips together. The sweetness of the kiss does absolutely nothing to quench the raging fire that’s threatening to engulf Eddie, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he manages to register it as _interesting._ Interesting in the way of: maybe this isn’t just a one-time thing to Richie. Maybe.

And then he remembers what he’s supposed to be doing, and the thought is gone as quickly as it had come. He reaches down between them to take Richie’s dick in his hand, and then he has to break the kiss so he can see his own fingers wrap around the shaft. The motion is hypnotic, and now that he’s watching, he can’t look away.

“Oh Jesus Christ,” Richie gasps, grabbing tight onto Eddie’s other arm. “I’m gonna come so fast.”

He isn’t lying. Eddie only gets a couple of good, long strokes in before Richie tenses all over and starts in with the _oh, don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop._

“I won’t. I’m not gonna stop,” Eddie tells him breathlessly, and he can’t even manage to be embarrassed about how lame or stupid he sounds. Richie is _shaking,_ and it’s _Eddie_ that got him like this; he’s all Eddie’s wanted for months—maybe even years without being fully aware of it—and now he’s here in Eddie’s bed. Better than Eddie could’ve imagined. So Eddie leans down and kisses him.

Eddie is _so_ aware of everything that’s happening right now—Richie’s tongue in his mouth, his hand gripping Eddie’s bicep, the little noises he makes muffled by their kiss, the slippery glide as Eddie’s hand becomes steadily more coated in come. He tries to hold onto it in his mind, to catalogue what he can taste and feel so he can pull this memory up as vivid as it is right now for the rest of his life. He doesn’t think there’s ever been a moment he was so desperate to remember.

He takes Richie’s hand on his wrist as an indicator that he can stop stroking, and then Richie is pushing up off the bed and back into position between Eddie’s legs like he’s never even _heard_ of a refractory period. Apparently he’s not even going to take a second to catch his breath, or wipe himself off, or let Eddie gaze deeply into his eyes like the sappy asshole he’s suddenly realizing he is. Eddie barely has time to register that horrifying thought before Richie’s got his lips wrapped around the head of his dick again and his entire brain flies right out the window without warning.

It’s going to be _impossible_ to hold back this time. Eddie’s not even a _little_ less hard than he was before, and he knows from fooling around by himself that the starting-and-stopping-and-starting-again thing makes him come _faster_ than if he’d never stopped at all, so this time he doesn’t even fucking try. A noise—a _groan_ —like he’s never heard himself make in his life comes out of him, a noise he didn’t even think he _could_ make, and that he’d be super embarrassed about if he was even a millisecond further away from losing it. But he’s not, and he tightens _everywhere,_ and—

Eddie can’t help it. He looks down between his legs and sees that hair—the hair he’s been all but physically restraining himself from touching for _four torturous months—_ and knows what he has to do. He reaches down and twists his fingers in it. It’s coarse and wild and incredible, just like the man it’s attached to. This guy he’s accidentally fallen in love with kicking and screaming, his first stupid crush. Middle school Eddie couldn’t have even _dreamed_ it would be this good.

“Richie, oh my god,” he whispers, “I’m coming.”

_Mmm,_ is the noise Richie makes in reply, from deep in the back of his throat, but Eddie barely hears it. He clenches both his fists—one in Richie’s hair in one hand and the other in the sheet—and comes so hard he can’t even breathe. His eyes are wide open. It’s probably the first time he hasn’t squeezed them shut while he comes, but _definitely_ not the last, because watching Richie and catching his eyes behind his glasses just makes him _keep coming._

“Okay,” Eddie gasps when he can’t take it anymore, and Richie slides off in one smooth motion. Even through the foggy post-orgasm brain scramble, Eddie registers his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. Richie then pitches up onto his knees and launches forward to collapse next to Eddie, face down into the pillow, before turning over onto his back. He sighs.

At long last, Eddie allows his trembling arms to give out underneath him and flops down, mirroring Richie’s position.

And because Eddie’s still picking at the metaphorical scab—like he doesn’t really believe it’ll peel off without bleeding—he goes, “I thought you only liked girls.”

Richie shakes his head, still breathing hard. “I don’t. Like girls.”

Eddie wrinkles his nose. “What about like, your ex-girlfriend? And that girl from AIM?”

Richie shakes his head again. “Alexis is a lesbian. I went over to her house and we smoked some pot before I fell asleep on her couch watching _Win a Date with Tad Hamilton!”_

“Oh my god, you asshole!” says Eddie, elbowing Richie in the arm. “I’ve spent this whole time thinking you were straight because like, that, and like your ex and—”

“Yeah, no,” says Richie. “She’s my ex because I’m fucking gay, and she found out after I hooked up with her best guy friend. I just… I dunno man, it kinda took me a while to come out.”

“You told _me_ back in eighth grade though,” Eddie presses. “You were like _I think I might be gay too or something.”_

“And then I didn’t tell anyone else for like five years,” Richie says, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Dude, I was scared. I had such a big fucking crush on you though, oh my god. That’s kind of what made me realize it.”

“Really?”

“God, yes,” says Richie. “You were _so_ cute. And like funny, and I liked you _so_ fucking much. I just… I never felt like that about anyone else before. Or kind of since, to be honest.”

“You remember that Sadie Hawkins dance?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah.”

“I swear to god, I almost asked you right then and there.”

“You’re _shitting_ me. I would have fucking _died,”_ Richie groans.

“Oh so you’re saying I should’ve?” Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Did I miss my chance?”

Richie turns to look at him, eyes bright and happy—happier than Eddie’s ever seen him. _Maybe the happiest he’s ever been,_ Eddie thinks selfishly. 

“Yeah,” says Richie, grinning all stupid. “Totally. You peaked in eighth grade, man. Clearly I’m not interested at all anymore.”

“Same, honestly,” says Eddie. He rests his head on Richie’s shoulder, nose in Richie’s hair, and Richie kisses the top of his head. “I’m so over you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have a confession. I have not actually watched The Gay and Wondrous Life of Caleb Gallo. Someone posted a clip from one of the episodes on Tumblr in which two guys (one of whom seems like he might be straight at first) have this incredible gay-chicken conversation about dick measuring that ends in a (not shown) blowjob. The sexual tension is thick enough to slice; it's absolutely inspiring. A couple of specific lines spoken in this fic are lifted verbatim from the dialogue of the show, but everything else has been changed and those characters are nothing else like Reddie from what I can tell.
> 
> All the thanks in the world to [jillian_bowes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jillian_Bowes/pseuds/Jillian_Bowes) for once again donating many hours of her time to painstakingly editing this fic for a fandom she's not even in.


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